


Behind the Mask

by pipisafoat



Category: NCIS
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-28
Updated: 2011-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat





	Behind the Mask

He's sitting at the table in front of me, looking me up and down slowly. Suspiciously, just as I would expect from him. Hell, I'd be disappointed if he was any less careful with the stranger about to tie him up, immobilize him, show him the time of his life. I don't take the lives and health of my team lightly, and it's good to see them taking care of themselves, too, especially this one.

"Jay," I say, more conscious of my voice than usual. Lower, smoother, more controlled than it is during the day, lessening the risk of him figuring out who I am just yet. "Make your decision."

"Let me see your face." He folds his arms decisively over his chest.

"No. I can't do that. Make your decision."

His eyes narrow. "Just take it off."

I shrug. "Sorry. I do hope that's not a deal breaker, Jay. You're exactly my type."

"Yeah? Well, you're not my type." He stands up to walk away, and I grab his wrist tightly.

"Sit." To my surprise, he does. "You're looking for anonymity. What better way to get that than with a man with no face?"

"Why _do_ you wear a mask?"

My half-smile is just visible under the curve of the plastic. "I have my reasons for hiding this face."

"Don't start singing opera, or I'll have to shoot you," he warns, and if I weren't already accustomed to his harsh humor, I'd probably be halfway across the room by now. As it is, I'm impressed at his reference. "So, what, were you burned by acid or something like that?"

"Oh, no, it's just that they're terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future." I see your reference and raise you one, Jethro, even though you apparently don't get this one. Somehow, I'm not surprised.

"Just plain ugly, then," he decides, and I laugh.

"My face is almost as beautiful as you will be, when you submit to me." He blinks, obviously not as against this as he wants to be. "Suffice to say, I have professional reasons for covering my face. It is quite comfortable, though." I realize almost too late that I'm starting to fall out of my practiced voice with him staring at me like that, that I'm about to go off on a tangent and pique his curiosity - make that, his nosiness - and he'll figure out who I am.

He cocks his head slightly to the left, a move I've come to recognize as a decision being reached. "Nothing illegal?"

"Nothing illegal, just the chance of, ah, repercussions should a coworker recognize me in here or near here."

"Sounds like you've had problems with this before."

I sigh quietly. "You didn't strike me as someone who needed to talk for hours before getting down to business."

He quirks that tiny smile, and my pants decide to become tighter than they usually are. "Fine. You have a room?"

"Always. Tell the man at the door Tabby sent you. I expect you naked and on your knees when I enter." I wave a hand in the general direction of the back rooms before returning to my drink, ignoring his continued gaze.

After a long moment without him moving, I check my watch pointedly, still avoiding his eyes. He notices the movement, stands hurriedly, and disappears from my line of sight. I give him enough time to leave the main room before pulling my mask off and scrubbing a hand over my face. _Jesus._

Peoria. My partner saw me leaving a leather bar, decided I was an abusive sadist, and made it extremely uncomfortable for me to be there. I've used a mask since then, taken a taxi, never gone from home (or work) straight to the bar or vice versa. Paranoia has served me well so far, but I can't for the life of me figure out why I'm about to mix it up with my boss.

I mean, sure, he's in here, so he can't fire me just for being here. But still, there's always the problem of the scene not working out the way he wants it, something going wrong. He'll figure out it's me. He knows me way too well not to. Even if the scene goes wonderfully, there's always that other problem of unequal desires.

Shit. I know I'm making one of the worst decisions of my life, but I stand up and go towards the back rooms, smiling politely at the bouncer there as he compliments on my choice for the evening. Yeah, Gibbs is a sight for sore eyes, even if he doesn't seem to care to dress up when he goes out. As I open the door to our room, all thoughts of his out-of-place clothing leave my mind in the face of his blinding nudity.

"Jay," I breathe softly, and he looks anxiously up at me.

"What should I call you?"

Oh. Uh... "Sir, unless there is another term you prefer." Jesus fuck, you look good. "Have you ever been trained?" I ask, pulling my shirt off.

"No, Sir," he replies, and it goes straight to my head. Both of them, actually. "If Sir would like me to do something specific, I'm a quick learner."

Oh, what this man being obedient does me. "We'll talk about that if we decide to meet again," I promise, immediately kicking myself mentally. Again? One time is sure to be a disaster, you moron. The hottest, sexiest disaster of your life, sure, but still a disaster. "For now, you can show me that your mouth is good for something other than talking." Oh, the irony.

"Yes, Sir." As he reaches up to open my pants, I grab his wrists, place his hands firmly on my hips. He pauses for half a breath, then leans forward and uses his teeth.

"Good boy, Jay," I praise, stroking his hair softly. "You are a quick learner."

He nuzzles me gently and looks up at my face, smiling. "Thank you, Sir. Sir, may I speak?"

Ohhhh god. Not a specified rule, but it sets me on fire to be asked permission for things. "Go ahead, Jay."

"I have trouble deep throating immediately, Sir," he says, and I watch a slight blush rise to his cheeks, his eyes drop. I tip his head up with a finger under his chin until he meets my gaze again.

"And that's why you have hands on my hips," I reply gently. "I don't enjoy choking my boys, and keeping yourself from gagging is one of your jobs." He nods, squeezes my hips gently. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you not to stop me otherwise," I warn him.

"Yes, Sir," he answers, and the smile is back. "I'm sorry, Sir."

I rub the back of his head. "Don't apologize for honesty, Jay."

He nods and returns his attention to my overeager dick. "Sir..."

I reach down and free it from my pants. "The goal is pleasure, not orgasm."

"Yes, Sir." I almost hope he can feel the tiny shiver that runs through me every time he says that, but I'm sure it's masked by the shudder as his tongue makes contact for the first time.

God, this man is good at what he does. Who needs to be deep throated when they have this tongue drawing hieroglyphics on their erection? Within two minutes, he's found all my hot spots and has even categorized them, playing repeatedly over the ones that feel the best while avoiding the ones that just make me want to come. Even with his attention to detail, I can't control myself for long. Not with the sight of my boss, the man I've been fantasizing about for _years_ , bobbing his head between my legs.

"Enough, Jay," I gasp, exorbitantly proud that I remembered his play name through the fog threatening to swallow my own name. "On the bed."

"Yes, Sir," he answers, and once he's arranged himself on all fours on the bed, he glances back over his shoulder at me. "Sir?"

"On your stomach," I answer.

He nods, rearranges himself. "Permission to speak, Sir?"

I groan. "Granted, boy."

"Thank you, Sir."

What? I raise an eyebrow at him in a conscious imitation of his own manner.

"For allowing me to pleasure you," he clarifies quickly.

Goddamn. How do you answer that? I take off my pants and stretch myself out on the bed beside him to stall for time, run a hand lightly down his back, pleased when he shivers. "You're good," I say eventually, still at a loss for the appropriate response.

"Thank you, Sir," he whispers, arching slightly into my hand.

"You like being petted?" I ask. God knows the man doesn't get enough human contact in his life.

"Yes, Sir." As I continue to stroke every part of him I can reach, I feel my need start to fade into comfortable tension. He melts into the mattress and almost purrs. Suddenly, I think I know what he needs, and to my surprise, it's exactly compatible with my needs. Or rather, it would be, if I weren't trying to keep my identity a secret. Damn it. He seems relaxed enough for now, so I decide not to deal with it yet. Maybe after I come, when I'm thinking clearly.

With that decision made, my caresses turn more purposeful. Scratching through the hairs at the base of his skull, tracing each vertebrae on his back, cupping the curve of his ass, brushing lightly over his entrance, then sliding firmly up his sides and starting the cycle again. After a few minutes, he pushes into my touch and spreads his legs.

"Please, Sir..."

I smile and continue the rhythm without change until he's panting and rubbing back against my fingers every time they find his hole. "Sir," he moans, and I take pity on him, trace ever-shrinking circles as I lean in and mouth at his neck.

"Oh, God," he whimpers, and I can't resist him. Pulling my fingers away, I stretch out on top of his body, nestle my cock against his ass, and scrape my teeth along the back of his neck. He presses back against me, fingers flexing against the sheets, and I trail my hands up his sides, enjoying his squirms.

"Louder, baby boy," I murmur in his ear, biting gently at the lobe. He hisses and grinds against the bed. Jesus. "Let me hear you enjoy yourself."

He groans as I drag my fingertips slowly around the edges of his armpits, trace up the inside of his arms. I twine our fingers together with my hand laid over the back of his, and he squeezes my fingertips tightly. "Please..."

I drag my tongue up the back of his neck, feel him shudder, and pull my hands free with an apologetic kiss. He protests wordlessly when I lift my body from his, but when my tongue starts to wind its way down his spine, he moans and shifts against the bed again.

"Hold still, Jay," I murmur against the top of his ass. "Make as much noise as you want, but keep yourself still."

"And don't come?" he gasps brokenly as my tongue trails down his crack.

I flick once against his hole. "And don't come until you have permission." He moans and fights a full body shudder. "Good boy."

"Oh god, Sir, _please_." I pull his cheeks apart and start the circles again, slowly getting closer to my goal. "Holy fucking..."

By the time I'm pushing my tongue into him, he's shaking and muttering broken sentences and phrases, not all of which I'm sure are English. "Sir!" he cries out urgently, and I pause. "Please, Sir, I don't... I don't think I can hold it if you..."

"Mmm," I say against him, and he pushes back against my face, stiffening. I'm completely sure that I'll lose it if he comes like this, but instead, his hand shoots down and grabs himself.

"Sir!" he cries again, and I moan into him, shoving my tongue as deep as it can go. Jesus, we're both about to lose it, and he's nowhere near loose enough for me to just shove in and end it. I reach an arm under him and pull him up onto his knees.

"You can come when I do," I gasp into his ear, and he nods desperately, scrabbling with one hand for the lube beside the bed.

"Please..."

I smear a quick handful between his thighs and plaster myself against his back. "Squeeze your legs together." Just the pressure from that is almost enough to make me blow, and my hips jerk against him. "Oh, God, like that..."

 _"Sir!"_ His voice goes mind-blowingly deep when he's on edge, a crazy counterpoint to mine, which is approaching woman-confronted-with-a-mouse high. "Please, please, please..."

The head of my cock rubs against his balls, and he shouts, rocking back hard against me. When the same thing happens on my next thrust, I jam myself as tight against him as I can go, shooting my brains out of my dick, jerking against him when I realize he's going to _smell_ like me when he walks out of this room. I shove away the death grip he has on himself, wrap a fist around him, and hear him practically scream as his legs give out and we collapse together onto our wet spot.

By the time my ears stop ringing, the tension in Gibbs' limbs has melted away, and his breathing is slowly returning to normal. When he shifts under me, I pull away from him with a groan and fall onto my back beside him. He rolls over, grabs a rag, cleans us both before curling into me with his head on my chest.

"Sir?" he asks tentatively, and I comb my fingers gently through his hair. "Are you okay?"

"Just takes me a bit longer to catch my breath than most people," I tell him tiredly. "I'm proud of you, boy. You held it until I came."

He pushes himself up above me, and the sated, happy smile that spreads over his face leaves me breathless. "May I kiss you, Sir?"

I lift a slightly shaky hand and push sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. "I can't," I whisper. "Not if it's just one night. Not you."

The smile doesn't disappear, to my surprise. "I couldn't stay away from you if I wanted to," he answers. "I'd like this to be more than one night."

My hand falters, drops back to the mattress. "You haven't even seen my face."

"Tony..." he whispers, cups the side of my face. "We're both breaking. Slowly but surely. Abby tells me we'd be good for each other, and it seems like it's true. Just give it a chance."

I blink hard and nod. "Alright. Two things, though - you call me Sir until the scene is done, not just until orgasm, and you tell me how you knew it was me."

He smiles again. "Yes, Sir. Will you become my Master?"

"Hopefully," I say, shivering. "And the second?"

"Abby said I'd find you here." He shrugs. "I wasn't sure, what with the mask and all, but nobody else would call me Gibbs during climax, at least, not that I know of, Sir."

I curl my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down for a kiss. "Damn well better not be anyone else," I growl possessively.

It's hours before we're ready to go home, though we don't do anything else sexual. Instead, I lay him out on the bed and just touch him, hug him, kiss him. Tell him it wasn't his fault the bastard killed himself and the hostage before we got there. Show him that he can't control everything, show _me_ that I _can_ control some things. When we're both relaxed, smiling, I call him Gibbs, hand him his clothes, and let him drive us home. The mask is stored in the back of the closet, and when I see my new sub's collection of toys, I vow to bring my own box over and never leave the bedroom.


End file.
